


Wild and Young

by Milo



Series: You've Got So Much Heart [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because of Law's ultimate sacrifice, Rocinante is alive, for better or for worse. Now he has to pick up where he left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A collection of fifteen—now sixteen—empty cups rested on the table.

Rocinante looked at each of them with a hum. In the time he had been at the bar testing his limits, he hadn’t felt buzzed even once. He didn’t even like alcohol much; it always managed to make his clumsiness that much worse. But after Minion Island, he felt that he needed it. He wanted to forget, if only for a short period of time. Unfortunately, that short period of time soon turned into a long period of time, which of course meant more than his fair share of bar visits.

But he discovered that the Devil Fruit’s ultimate power had an unsavory side effect; he couldn’t become intoxicated, no matter how much he drank. He traveled around testing different drinks; rum, ale, vodka, beer, anything he could get his hands on. But the results were always the same: nothing. If Doflamingo had indeed gotten the power of the fruit, he would have been so sorely disappointed to discover that all of those bottles of wine he went through per week had absolutely no effect on him.

The waitress who had been serving him came by again,and noting the excess of glasses, looked at him with a nervous smile. “I think you’ve had enough sir,” she said.

Rocinante smiled back at her. “Do you have anything stronger, by chance?” he asked.

She picked up four of the empty glasses and placed them on her tray. “You just drank sixteen glasses of it.”

“Ah, I see…” Rocinante scratched his head, fluffing up his neglected hair. “I suppose I’m done, then. Thank you anyway.”

The waitress hurried off with the empty glasses as she was called from across the room to deal with another, drunk customer. Rocinante looked down at the glasses with a huff. So that was it, no effect from anything. He’d wasted another chunk of money for nothing. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and counted up the amount he needed to pay for the drinks. At another table, he overheard a group of men talking.

“...Did I hear that right? He said a _bear_ ’s been picking through his stuff?”

“That’s what he told me. He said it’s a huge-ass white bear that came storming through his cellar and steals all his meats and preserves—right in the dead of night, too. He says when he tried to catch it, the thing kicked him right in the face. I don’t know who Jeffers thinks he’s trying to fool, this island ain’t got no bears on it. Least of all kicking bears.” 

“It’s too hot for them, ain’t it? Bears got all that fur, and it takes a lot to feed a bear, don’t it?”

“Yeah, and there’s nowhere for them to hide, not here on this island. And how would a bear get here in the first place, anyhow? They can’t just swim over from the next island, it’s too far. They’d drown before they ever reached land.” A pause, presumably for the one speaking to take a drink. “Now, see, I’m thinking it’s those pirates at work—you know the ones? They came in here just the other night…”

Rocinante tucked enough cash to cover his drinks under a mug, not caring much that the amount was a bit over, before he got up and walked out. A few of the bar’s patrons glanced at him. He presumed it was because of his height versus the bar’s low ceiling, which he had to avoid by bending over quite a bit. He didn’t give their attention much regard, as he was used to being stared at, and left the bar without a word. It was evening now, though it had been about mid-day when he entered. In other words he’d wasted yet another day. He needed groceries, needed to make arrangements for the night, and most importantly needed to save what little money he had left for...the rest of eternity, he supposed. How long did the Devil Fruit’s power last, anyway? Rocinante wasn’t entirely sure if anyone knew the answer, or _who_ would even know that, if so.

He made his way back to the glorified dinghy with a sail that he still used to get around from island to island. The boat was so plain, so uninspired that nobody really gave it much thought, which allowed him to leave what few belongings he had stowed in one of the compartments. So it came as a surprise when he noticed someone messing around in it. As he hurried to the dock, the figure became more clear; though, now that he looked at them, he realized they were more of a vague white mass in clothes than anything else. A white mass of fur, complete with little round animal ears, was rummaging through his things. He stopped walking. The men he’d overheard in the bar had mentioned a wild bear, had they not? He squinted. If this was the animal they’d mentioned, it wasn’t a particularly large bear. No, it wasn’t much larger than a dog.

“Hey!” he snapped at the animal. “Get out of there!”

It perked up and turned to look at him. When it made eye contact, it nearly jumped out of its skin. It immediately grabbed Rocinante’s bag in its teeth, jumped back onto the docks, and ran off. Rocinante began to chase after it, but tripped on an uneven board on the dock and toppled over, face first, onto the wooden planks. He groaned and watched the little white bear run off on all fours to a little wooded area just outside the tiny town. He picked himself up, brushed himself off, and then turned his attention to the boat.

The food was gone; that wasn’t a surprise, there wasn’t much food to begin with. There was a little money and Rocinante’s spare clothes  along with a life vest in case of emergency. His eyes widened. He dug around in the compartment, upturning his folded clothes in the process, and came up empty handed.

Law’s hat was nowhere to be found, meaning that it was tucked it away in the stolen bag.

 

* * *

 

Despite it being a relatively small island, finding the bear thief had proved fruitless. Rocinante searched the woods, the outskirts of the town, and the docks time and time again only to find nothing. But he was determined. The bag had to be somewhere. And without any food inside, what would a bear want with it?

Initially he had planned to leave only a couple days after he arrived, but he wound up staying for another three. In those three days, he hung around in bars, in the open air market, and in stores, trying to catch hide or hair of the little white bear he’d seen. Occasionally someone would mention having their goods stolen, usually a meat product or some fish, but nobody knew what to make of the animal behind it. The island was too small to be home to any wild animals larger than a raccoon—and even those were fairly scarce, or so he’d been told.

He holed up in a little hotel for a few days, using a small portion of what he’d saved up to cover the cost of room and board. From its window he would watch the street, still determinedly trying to find that bear. Rocinante knew he couldn’t stay for too much longer, lest someone finally recognize his face, but he wasn’t going to leave without that hat.

On the fourth day, after another thorough search of the island, he came across the bear unexpectedly. Some of the local ranch owners had cornered it in an alleyway. And despite it being one small bear, it was giving them a run for their money.

“Don’t let that thing get away again!”

“Get it! Get it now!”

Even though it was surrounded, outnumbered, and without a weapon, the little shirt and overall-clad bear was standing its ground. It stood up on its hind legs, showing it to be no taller than three feet, but it had a confident look on its face. As the villagers rushed at it, the bear attacked their legs with powerful kicks and punches. It knocked the wind out of two of them...before the other three descended on it from behind in a yelling, snarling mess.

“Let go of me!” said a voice too high-pitched to be any of the men in the brawl. “Let me go or I’ll bite all your fingers off!”

That was the moment that Rocinante knew that this wasn’t just a bear—well, perhaps he _was_ just a bear that happened to talk. But he was still more than just a simple everyday bear. And he was also the bear that happened to steal his belongings, and he wouldn’t get an answer from him if he was torn to pieces.

“Hey!” Rocinante called out. One of the injured villagers looked at him. “What’s going on?”

“This bear’s been nothing but trouble,” one of the men said. “Steals food, destroys property, kills and eats livestock. Took us days to track this guy down.”

Two of them pinned the little bear to the ground. He was still snarling and growling, lips drawn back to reveal a set of sharp teeth. He clawed the ground fruitlessly, the combined weight on top of him proving to be too much for the poor bear to handle.

“Here, I’ll pay for the damage,” Rocinante said. He produced a number of bills from his pocket and showed them off to the villagers. “But you have to let the bear go.” The group looked at each other for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him myself.”

It was a surprisingly quick decision for the farmers, as they took the offer of cash and left the bear in the dust. The little white bear was now dirtied and grimy. He looked up at Rocinante cautiously, trying to determine whether or not he was a threat. He drew his lips back in a snarl and growled a little in an attempt to seem more fearsome. Rocinante squatted down on the ground.

“So you’re a talking bear, huh?” Rocinante said. The bear’s expression changed in an instant. He looked guilty about this, and turned away. “You took something that belonged to me, something very, very important. Do you still have that bag with you?”

“I buried it,” the bear said. “There wasn’t any food in it but I thought it might come in handy…” His ears perked up and he sniffed Rocinante. “Why did you stop them?”

Rocinante ignored the question. “Do you have a name, bear?” he asked.

“My name is Bepo,” Bepo said.

“Alright, Bepo, how did you get here?” Rocinante asked. “The nearest island is miles away.”

“I came by boat. _My_ boat,” Bepo said proudly. When Rocinante looked at him skeptically, Bepo pouted. “Just because I’m a bear doesn’t mean I don’t know how to navigate! I navigated here all by myself!”

There were a number of tiny fishing boats at the docks, some bigger and some smaller. Judging by everyone’s reaction to him, Rocinante figured that Bepo probably had not come in with any of the locals or merchants. Which meant this little bear had made it here all on his own; an admirable feat. Bepo eyed him carefully, as if he expected Rocinante to turn around and do something to him at any moment.

“Could you take me to where you buried that sack?” Rocinante asked. “I want my things returned to me.”

“Why should I?” Bepo said.

“Because I just paid your debts,” Rocinante said. “And saved you from becoming a fur coat or rug.” Bepo’s fur stood up on end and he growled. “Surely it shouldn’t be too hard to give my things back to me?”

Bepo bristled for a moment more before he calmed again and nodded, but it was clear that he was still a little wary of Rocinante. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you to your stuff. I buried the bag out in the woods.”

Bepo led Rocinante into the forest, a familiar patch that Rocinante had gone through several times when he was looking for him. Underneath a thick bush was a freshly unearthed pile of dirt that Rocinante could only assume was where Bepo had stashed his things. The area was a part of the island filled with undergrowth and shady trees. The dark patch didn’t stand out much; no wonder he couldn’t find it. As Bepo dug, dirt flew everywhere, and Rocinante had to stand in front of the bush to avoid being hit.

“Why have you been stealing food from the villagers?” he asked.

“I don’t have any money,” Bepo said simply. “It was easy to get food where I used to live. I didn’t need any money before. But when I came here, everyone always got mad when I took things.” He paused in digging to look up and out of the hole, his nose now stained brown. “Humans are really mean.”

Rocinante nodded slowly, and Bepo resumed digging. “Yes, they can be,” he said.

“Found it!”

Bepo launched the bag out of the hole with a surprising amount of force. Rocinante caught it, and then proceeded to tip over and fall onto his back. The bag was dampened by the moist dirt. Rocinante hurried to undo the clumsy knot that Bepo had made and open it up. There were some more clothes, his old feather coat, odds and ends, a log pose, maps, and then...Law’s hat. He pulled it out with a relieved sigh. It was a little damp, but still fine.

“Thank god,” he said. “It’s safe.”

Bepo tilted his head. “That’s what you wanted?” he asked. “A smelly old hat?”

“Yes, this is what I wanted,” Rocinante said, standing up. He dropped the sack on the ground, too focused on the hat to care about anything else. “It’s very important to me.”

He gripped the bag tightly and hoisted it onto his shoulder. With his things returned, he could set off the next morning for...wherever he happened upon next. Bepo climbed out of the hole and proceeded to kick the dirt back into it, but as Rocinante began to leave, he stopped. He quickly caught up with Rocinante and looked up at him curiously.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked. Rocinante didn’t respond. “Are you gonna leave? I’ve never met a nice human like you before. What if I get in trouble with those guys again?”

Rocinante looked down at him. “So long as you don’t go around stealing from other people, you should be fine,” he said. As he continued on, Bepo followed him, and he stopped walking. “...Look, kid, you shouldn’t follow me.”

“Why not?” Bepo asked.

“Because I don’t like kids,” Rocinante replied.

“I’m not a kid. I’m a bear.”

Rocinante frowned. “No, you’re a kid,” he said. “And I’m dangerous for you to be around. So go back to wherever it is you live and leave me alone.”

Bepo stopped, and Rocinante continued on. He could feel Bepo’s eyes on him, boring into his back, but he knew it was for the best. After all, the last time he’d tried to take care of a little kid...he held the hat closer to himself. It was for the best that he was alone, better that he kept to himself.

Yet, moments later, he heard the flurry of feet coming after him. Rocinante groaned loudly.

“Bepo—!”

“I don’t have anywhere else I can go,” Bepo said. “I was sleeping in the forest, but it’s cold and dark and I don’t like it.” He got in front of Rocinante and pawed at his legs, forcing him to stop. “I saw those maps in your bag. Are you trying to get away from here? I know how to navigate. And I’m really good at fighting, too.”

He wanted to tell Bepo that he could navigate just fine. He could handle himself, didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone. But as he looked down at Bepo, he could tell that the opposite was true; Bepo needed _him_. It would be morally wrong to let this child, animal or not, roam around on his own unsupervised, with no money, food, or shelter. He knew it would eat away at him if he didn’t even try.

“Can you promise me you’ll stay out of trouble?” Rocinante said sternly. “No more fights? No more stealing?”

“Are you a marine or something?” Bepo asked, frowning at Rocinante.

“Or something,” Rocinante said, frowning right back. He crossed his arms “Well? I don’t have all day.”

Bepo looked down in thought for a few seconds before he nodded confidently. “Okay,” he said. “I can do that. I won’t take any food or kick anyone.”

The little white bear followed him all the way back to the room where Rocinante was staying. It took a lot of sneaking around to get him through the front door; the inn didn’t allow animals. But once they arrived, Bepo raced into the room with excitement. He sniffed at the messed up covers on the bed and the few of Roci’s things that were in the room, but ultimately he was most interested in the bag of food resting on the table.

“I smell fish,” Bepo said. “Do you have some? Can I have some of it?”

Rocinante waved a hand. “Help yourself,” he said.

Bepo grinned and pulled the too-heavy bag off of the table. He stumbled a bit, trying to find his feet, and a head of lettuce rolled out from it. He blinked at it before digging into the bag’s contents. Some freshly wrapped fish were in a bag at the bottom, and Bepo enthusiastically ripped through the paper to get to the meat inside.

“Hey, mister?” Bepo spoke up again, mouth full of fish. “You didn’t tell me what your name was.”

Rocinante payed Bepo no mind, instead pretending to be too invested in his damp bag. He pulled each thing from it and laid it over the table to dry. The maps had been dirtied, both from soil and from dirty little paws handling them. They had already been dirtied by pen marks; little marks for each of the hospitals he and Law visited...

He rolled them up and promptly tossed them into a waste basket.

“What’d you do that for?” Bepo said. Rocinante heard him shuffle over and caught him pulling the map from the bin. He unrolled it and looked it over. Then, he poked it. “They’re still good maps.”

“I don’t need them anymore,” Rocinante said.

“Well!” Bepo began, rolling the maps back up, “I’m going to save them. Just in case we go back to North Blue.”

Rocinante gave Bepo a hard look before it softened. Of course his little bear friend wouldn’t understand what he was talking about, why he wouldn’t ever go back if he could help it. To anyone else, his dislike of the North Blue would seem bizarre. But he didn’t want to explain it. No, if he could avoid talking about it altogether, that would be ideal.

“My name is Rocinante,” he said. Bepo’s ears perked up. “But, if you could do me a favor and not use my name in public…”

“No problem,” Bepo said. “Do you have a bounty on your head, Rocinante? Is that why you don’t want me to use it?” His eyes sparkled with wonder. “Does that mean...are you a pirate, Mister Rocinante?”

Rocinante took the cigarette in his mouth and ground it into the ashtray on the table. “Something like that,” he muttered.

Bepo jumped up in the air; a height that might have been formidable to an average sized human, but only reached Rocinante’s waist. “Wow!” Bepo said, in awe. He bounced up again. “I’ve always wanted to meet a famous pirate!” He put his paws together. “I want to be a really great pirate navigator on a real pirate ship someday, that’s why I left home. Do you have a big, awesome ship around here, Mister Rocinante?”

Rocinante eyed Bepo awkwardly, unsure of what to tell him. Saying that he did would be troublesome, and saying that he did in the past would also be troublesome. But the look on Bepo’s face told him that the excitable little bear would probably believe just about anything he said, without much question.

“I did have one,” Rocinante started slowly, “but then I left to go my own way. It’s a bit of a convoluted story...the captain and I didn’t get along.” He smiled a little. “I guess you could say I’m my own captain now. One of these days I’ll find a better ship than the little dinghy in the harbor.”

Bepo’s smile widened, and Rocinante knew that he was more than happy with that response. It wasn’t exactly a lie, not that it mattered much. Hopefully Rocinante could get Bepo to a safer place, or back home, before too long. No doubt Bepo’s family would be worried about him; what with him running off to be a pirate, of all things.

“We’ll find the best ship ever, captain!” Bepo said, saluting him. “Bigger, better, stronger than any of the other ships!” Rocinante only nodded slowly and returned to his belongings. Bepo danced around Rocinante’s feet. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I’m only tired,” he said. “Why don’t you go and finish up your fish?”

“Oh!” Bepo said. “I almost forgot about those!”

He scurried away back to the torn up newspaper pile and helped himself to the rest of Rocinante’s salted fish. Rocinante watched him as he ravenously devoured each and every last morsel. Bepo had a big appetite, and as he got bigger that appetite was only going to be bigger and harder to manage. Hopefully Bepo would come to his senses and go home, wherever that was.

When night fell, Bepo passed out at the foot of the single bed, warm and stuffed full of food for the first time in awhile. Not wanting to disturb him, Rocinante had to sleep in an awkward position around him, legs bent and arms tucked in. Bepo didn’t move from his tight little ball, which was a pain—and he snored, too, though Rocinante didn’t mind much; he didn’t sleep much as it was. It was the stiffness that would be a pain tomorrow. It wasn’t the only thing bothering him, though.

Bepo reminded him too much of Law, from his readiness to join a glorified gang of thugs to his fighting abilities and stubborn nature. Certainly they were very different, but he couldn’t help but see glaring similarities between them. And it scared him. He had already failed the children who joined the Donquixote Family, he’d already failed Law.

He wasn’t ready to lose yet another child.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a long time since I picked this story up. No, I haven't given up on it. I was just busy juggling college graduation requirements, commissions, Blackbird, and real life. This story will probably not get frequent updates, but I'll definitely keep working on it from time to time.

Bepo grew at an alarming rate.

Since he appeared to have no intentions of leaving Rocinante to return home, Rocinante continued to feed and care for Bepo as they traveled around. Bepo grew out of his clothes and needed a new set, but within months he grew out of that set, too. Teenage Bepo was a handful, too, as Rocinante struggled to help him control his own strength. His appetite and the amount of fur he shed were other things entirely.

Rocinante was a staggering nine feet tall, which hadn’t been uncommon in the company he used to keep, but he had dwarfed Bepo (and most other people, for that matter) for months. Yet soon enough Bepo reached his waist and Rocinante was sure that, by the time he was an adult, he and Bepo might actually see eye to eye. He couldn’t imagine what everyone else would think about a ten foot tall bear wandering around, regardless of how polite Bepo could be.

All in all, he didn’t really mind keeping Bepo around. It was nice to have someone again, even if it was a talking bear. Bepo had his own charm, and having him around was almost...therapeutic. Though his first impressions had been that he was a bit of a wildcard, Bepo turned out to be fairly mature for his age. That, and someone knowing his real name made him feel a little better.

However, in Rocinante’s travels, he’d forgotten about a very important, ever-present issue; Doflamingo.

Now Doflamingo was in the New World by now, Rocinante had no doubt about that. For the time being, he was safe to float around. Nobody in any of the Blues would think twice about some tall, mysterious man who payed for food and supplies and left soon after. Doflamingo did still think he was dead—and that Law was safe, healed, and had gone into in marine custody—which left him at an advantage.

But on what seemed like no day in particular, a newspaper confirmed his worst possible fear.

“Doflamingo...nominated as a _pirate warlord_?” Rocinante said, in shock. He lowered his sunglasses to read over the passage again and again. “That...that can’t be right. This is wrong.”

Bepo, who was gnawing away at a large fish, paused to give him a look. “Doflamingo?” he asked. “Who is that?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Bepo,” Rocinante reminded him gently.

“Oh, sorry.” Bepo swallowed his mouthful of fish.

It was only a few years ago that he had been a mole in the Donquixote Pirate crew. Not too long ago, they were a serious enough threat to send Tsuru after. What happened to that? What changed since he had vanished? More importantly, who had made this decision? What the hell was Sengoku doing?

Rocinante lowered the newspaper enough to see around their table. A few other people were seated around them. They didn’t seem to notice. He snapped his fingers and everything went silent. The birds, the shore, the small talk all died down immediately. He needed to think. Bepo seemed to notice the silence, and his ears perked up.

“What’s wrong, captain?” he asked.

If Doflamingo was a warlord, then he was safe from the marines; in short, he was free to do whatever his heart desired. Rocinante was the only person outside of the Donquixote Family who knew about his plans for Dressrosa. He folded the newspaper and tossed it harshly onto the table. He was a fool. In all his moping, he had let Doflamingo escape. Dressrosa was doomed. He let out a long, exhausted sigh and dropped his head onto the table, startling Bepo.

Doflamingo was his responsibility, and he had neglected that responsibility. His only purpose in life...that was to deal with his older brother. To stop him. To fix this giant mess he caused. And here he was traveling along aimlessly like some vagabond without a purpose. This was as much his fault as it was Doflamingo’s...

“Captain?” Bepo called again, gently nudging Rocinante’s shoulder with one of his large paws. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

Rocinante lifted his head to look at Bepo. Bepo looked concerned. Then, he sighed and shook his head.

“We need a ship,” he said.

Bepo looked perplexed. “A ship?” he asked. “We’ve already got one, though, don’t we?”

“It’s a glorified raft with a bedsheet tied to it,” Rocinante replied. “Yes, it floats, but the chances of us reaching Grand Line, let alone surviving it for more than five minutes, are slim to none.”

“We’re going to Grand Line?” Immediately, Bepo’s eyes lit up. “But I thought you wanted to…?”

“Forget what I said, it’s not relevant anymore.”

Rocinante stood up and was about to leave, but he hesitated and pulled out enough coins for their meal and the newspaper. Bepo gave him another odd look, probably wondering why a supposed great and terrible pirate like Rocinante felt the need to pay for every little thing. But more than ten years spent as a marine left him with a moral code and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least stick to it. The waitress could keep the change. Bepo quickly gulped down the last of the fish in true bear fashion.

“Are we going to steal a ship?” Bepo asked, making Rocinante glad that he still had the sound barrier up. “I saw some nice ones in the harbor…”

“Not here, we’ll look somewhere else,” Rocinante said.

“It wouldn’t be difficult,” Bepo said. “You can do that mute thing and nobody will even hear us. By the time anyone finds us, we’ll be—”

“ _No_.”

Bepo was right, though. There were a slew of decent vessels in the harbor, all of which probably could have tackled the Grand Line’s countless dangers until they found something better. It would be easy to leave with one of them without drawing too much attention. But Rocinante still felt bad; stealing from another pirate was one thing, but all of the people on this particular island were merchants or fisherman. It wasn’t right. He snapped his fingers and lowered the sound barrier.

The waitress returned momentarily to collect their dishes onto a platter. She eyed the cash on the table with a smile. As she counted the coins into the palm of her hand, Rocinante cleared his throat.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of an island where my companion and I could purchase a well-made ship, would you?” Rocinante asked. “We’re heading out on a long, arduous trip and need something sturdy to handle it.”

“Hmm...well, there is one place nearby. It’s no Water 7, mind you, but it has its fair share of ship builders,” she replied. “It’s southeast from here, about a two day trip out if the weather stays nice like this. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for there. Careful, though, it’s got a mild pirate infestation.”

Rocinante nodded. “Great. Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” she replied as she finished counting. “Man, if you’re leaving then I’m gonna miss your tips. I don’t believe I got your name. Mr…?”

“My name is Law,” Rocinante replied with a smile. “Trafalgar Law.”

 

* * *

 

Black hair didn’t suit him. In fact, he didn’t like the look much at all on himself. But Law’s hair had been dark, he had no choice. It wasn’t his first time running around in disguise as someone else; far from it, in fact. But it felt...uncomfortable, especially so considering that he was pretending to be _Law_. Not to mention it would take a damn miracle to pull this off. He and Law had a thirteen year age gap between them and that was only the beginning of their differences.

He didn’t much like the uncomfortable feeling of the wind on his ears or the fact that his forehead was now more exposed. The hat helped...somewhat. He preferred his floppy, loose hat more than this form fitting copy of Law’s. Also, it was wool. Scratchy, too-warm wool.

But he looked the part. Dark hair, spotted hat. Way too tall for Law, though... He squinted at himself in the mirror and then sighed. He wished he’d had the chance to talk to Law about more things.

When he came back from the bathroom, he paused. Bepo was staring at him and he immediately felt self conscious.

“Ehhh? What did you do to your hair?” Bepo asked.

“I felt like changing it,” was his response. When all Bepo did was give him a skeptical look, he continued, “It’s...it’s for disguise purposes. So no one recognizes me.”

Not one of his best, but Bepo seemed to buy it and that’s what mattered. They quickly gathered their supplies and set out to sea.

The little dinghy was at the end of its life now. Its original function had been as a lifeboat for the Donquixote Pirates’ ship, after all. It wasn’t intended for the long journeys it had been saddled with. It had holes and cracks, the wood was coming off in places, and of course Rocinante had burned it—and himself—countless times. The fact that they somehow got the thing to sail was a miracle.

The weather stayed calm for the first day and night but quickly changed the morning of the second day to rain. Rocinante never minded the rain prior to the present. There was something calming about it. But now whenever the weather acted up, so did those old bullets still lodged in his back, and he was feeling them something fierce.

Bepo and Rocinante ended up huddling under a tarp as they rowed but it wasn’t too good of protection from the blustery winds and freezing rain. The island came into view that afternoon and, once they were close enough, so did the harbor.

“Can you see anything?” Rocinante asked Bepo from under the tarp.

“I see...oh! Pirate flags!” Bepo exclaimed. “There’s gotta be a dozen of them! Not any that I recognize, though...must be small time pirates.”

Good. Small time pirates would be less likely to put up a good fight. Rocinante removed the tarp and cursed when he was splashed with some of the accumulated water. “We need to get out of this rain and find shelter,” he said. “Do you see somewhere, ah, inconspicuous to dock?”

“There’s a cove to the right just past the harbor,” Bepo replied, pointing to it. “Too small for these bigger ships but it should be okay for us.”

There wasn’t much more than some rocks in the cove which made proper docking difficult, especially so with the choppy waves, but somehow they managed. They unloaded what few things they had stashed away in the boat’s compartments, gave it one last look, and then hurried away into the trees. As useless as it was now, the boat was loaded with memories and Rocinante was a little unhappy to leave it.

They ended up ducking into a bar if only to escape the damn rain as it worsened. Bepo was soaked and probably had ten pounds of water trapped in his fur by now. Once they were inside, he stood in the doorway, shook it off, and soaked Rocinante a second time.

“Sorry Captain,” Bepo said with a sheepish smile.

The bar was loud and rowdy with one too many burly seafaring men. Rocinante eyed them; nobody that he recognized from wanted posters...not that he was up to date on them anymore. The people gathered in the bar seemed to be average ruffians, gangs, roughnecks from random small islands perhaps. Nobody thought twice about them sneaking to a small table in the corner. They set their bags down and ordered some food.

So many drunk pirates to choose from. None of these men would be particularly difficult to shove off the side of a ship...that is, if they even made it back tonight. So many different jolly rogers, tattooed on arms, embroidered on jackets, on bandanas...but which group would be the best choice?

“What’s the plan, captain?” Bepo leaned over and whispered to him.

“I’m working on it,” Rocinante responded.

The front door was forced open by the wind. A couple boys in hats and boiler suits raced through the door, newspapers covering their heads from the pouring rain. They cursed as they dripped water all over the floorboards and dropped their disintegrating newspapers.

“Man, this rain is _awful_ ,” one of them said. “We get up early and everything and it just turns into _this_.” He pulled off one of his rubber boots and poured out the water, much to the bartender’s dismay.

“We can still set out after we pick up supplies if you want to,” his friend replied. “The rain won’t affect the sub any.”

Sub?

“Well yeah, we could,” the other replied. “But we’ve been cooped up in there for like three days now. I could go for some real food, real air...dude, I’m _desperate_ for some sunshine.”

Rocinante focused his attention on the two boys as they talked. They weren’t children, but they weren’t adults either, perhaps somewhere in the middle of their teenage years. No parent or guardian in sight either...were they pirates too? He hoped not.

His gaze followed them to a table not too far from where he and Bepo were seated. Neither of them seemed to see Bepo, thankfully. The waiter left a plate of fresh fish for Bepo and a salad on their table. Rocinante was content to watch the kids quietly as he ate. They noisily chattered on without noticing.

Sub...as in submersible? He must have misheard them. How in the world would two children have a submarine? They weren’t exactly easy to come by. Rocinante himself had never even seen one let alone been inside of one. He chewed a piece of lettuce thoughtfully. A nicely crafted wooden vessel would be the traditional way to go. But a submarine had stealth, it was quiet, no one would be able to track them…

“I’m gonna weep tears of joy,” one of the boys said as he munched on his own food, which seemed to consist of meat and potatoes “It’s fresh, it’s _so_ fresh, oh my god.”

“I never want to eat food out of a can again,” the other said with a groan, mouth full.

“Ditto. What the hell was that stuff you bought, anyway? That brown meat? It didn’t even have ingredients on it!”

Rocinante blinked and shook his head. No, no he’d feel too guilty stealing something from a couple of kids like that. He stabbed several pieces of lettuce with his fork. Besides, there was the possibility that it wasn’t a submarine, or it was too small for him and Bepo…

“Captain,” Bepo said as he tapped on Rocinante’s shoulder. “I think those two own a submarine.”

Rocinante glanced at Bepo, who pointed to the two kids with his eyes. Catching Bepo’s hidden meaning, he snapped his fingers and put a sound barrier around the table. The sound of the rain against the roof immediately stopped, as did the loud chatter of the rowdy customers.

“A submarine would be the perfect transportation,” Bepo continued. “Not only will it be stealthy and allow us to escape whenever we needed, but if we ever decide to go to New World, we won’t need a bubble casing.”

Oh, he hadn’t thought about that. Dressrosa was in New World. Sneaking by without having to track down a bubble casing master would make things a lot simpler.

“True. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to steal from a couple of kids, though,” Rocinante replied, continuing to devour his salad.

“Well...what if we added them to our pirate crew?” Bepo suggested, making Rocinante choke. “We can’t go off to Grand Line without more people, right?”

Pirate crew? Oh no, _no_ , he wasn’t getting anyone else involved in this. It was going to be hard enough to get Bepo to stay behind if he went after Doflamingo but if he brought two more kids along with him? Doflamingo wouldn’t care if they were children, he’d slaughter them. It was too dangerous to even entertain the idea.

“Not if we find something small enough to pilot by ourselves,” Rocinante responded. “You can navigate, I can do...whatever else is needed. It’ll be fine.”

“I suppose,” Bepo said, clearly not okay with this. He rested his head on his elbows. “What if the ship gets damaged while we’re at sea? We’d need someone who can do repairs. And it never hurts to have a cook, or a doctor, or a—”

“I understand the risks, Bepo,” Rocinante cut him off. “But I’d prefer to be alone. I wasn’t even expecting the talking bear I somehow recruited.” Bepo looked away self-consciously, and Rocinante sighed. “I don’t mind anymore, but I really would rather not bring anyone else into this mess.”

“Why do you always say it like that?” Bepo asked. “I’ve been here for a couple years now and nothing bad has happened.” He paused. “Did something bad happen to you before?”

Rocinante stopped eating. He looked away from Bepo and in one slow movement, he lowered the sound barrier. The loud laughter of pirates and clink of dishes, plus the now quiet sound of rain on the roof, returned. Bepo closed his mouth and decided to continue eating. Neither of them said anything more.

 

* * *

 

The rain passed by evening, and the morning gave them clear skies and warm weather. Which was bad for Bepo the polar bear, who immediately started feeling uncomfortable and ended up spending the day in the inn well outside the range of the sun. They decided to just take the day to scope out a decent vessel and leave their things behind in the room. In the meantime, Rocinante went looking for supplies; food, some stuff to restock the first aid kit, perhaps a brush to help eliminate some of Bepo’s excess fur.

He passed down by the harbor on his way back to their room to get a better look at what ships had docked yesterday. There were a number of vessels; some average fishing boats, merchant ships, and, most importantly, plenty of pirate ships. They ranged from small to large—or “large” by small time pirate standards. The majority of them seemed like they had never left the East Blue, and even more looked like they would fall apart the second they crossed Reverse Mountain. But others were strong and sturdy, probably filled to the brim with people and goods, ready to take on Grand Line.

He and Bepo couldn’t have something too big—no, they’d need something small enough that they could handle it themselves, but big enough that it wouldn’t immediately get swallowed by a Sea King. He contemplated one with stained dark wood with what seemed like hefty sails that were strong enough to deal with the wind and weather. Now, if only he could see the inside...

A yell from the far end of the docks drew his attention. He turned away from the ship he was looking at. The two boys in boiler suits were racing toward the docks, arms filled with grocery bags, as a few of the pirates from the bar last night chased them down, swords at the ready. Rocinante tensed.

Oh, that wasn’t going to end well. He hurried after them.

The group cornered them on a dock which was fitted with a few rowboats. It was eight on two, hardly a fair fight even before factoring in that they were only two teenage boys. Rocinante kept watch at a close distance hidden behind a wooden pole.

“So, you kids got yourselves a submarine, huh?” the probable pirate captain said. “Where the hell did you even get that?”

“We, uh…” The boy in the black hat pulled on his collar. “We...borrowed it? So, uh, we should really go give it back...”

“Nice try, kid,” the pirate said gruffly. “See, me ‘n the boys here are heading off to Grand Line to secure ourselves a vast fortune in gold. And I’ve been thinking to myself that that submarine could get us all the way there.” He unsheathed his sword. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, and let me tell you, after weeks on the high seas we’re dying for a little action.”

The other pirates cheered with him, raising their weapons. Rocinante scowled at the group. Honestly, these lowlifes were going to harass a couple of children for a free ride to Grand Line? He supposed he was no different, what with how he was eyeing up someone else’s ship. But he really was only doing it out of necessity. He watched the two boys take a few steps back until they reached the edge of the dock.

“You can’t have it,” the boy in the blue hat said. “It’s ours. We won it fair and square. Can’t you just buy your own ship?”

“Where is it, you little shit?” The captain snarled, grabbing the boy by the front of his boiler suit. “We’ve searched every inch of this island. So _where_ did you hide it?” He lifted his sword to the boy’s throat. “Just remember, we only need one of you.”

“Hey!” Rocinante called out, startling both parties. “What do you think you’re doing to my crewmen?”

The pirates turned back to look at him. He stiffened. Okay, on second thought, he probably shouldn’t have done that. The last time he fought a crew of pirates single-handedly he ended up full of lead and bleeding to death. But he held his ground and did his best to appear intimidating in his yellow and orange sweater.

“Your crewmen?” the assailant repeated. He let go of the fistful of boiler suit that he was holding and the boy dropped to the ground. “These two snot-nosed brats belong to you?”

Rocinante set his bag of goods on the ground and approached them. He turned up his nose and glowered down at the pirates before him in the best impersonation of Doflamingo he could manage. They were dwarfed in comparison to him, the tallest of the bunch only able to reach Rocinante’s hip, which added to the effect.

“I hope you don’t think you can get away with _threatening and insulting_ my crew,” he said. He reached to his side, where his flintlock pistol was resting in its holster. The pirate eyed it, and Rocinante, nervously. He seemed unsure or what to do.

“Yeah?” he said with a forced laugh. “And just who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Trafalgar Law,” Rocinante stated. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me.” The pirate crewmen looked between each other, some muttering and others shrugging. “Ruthless pirate slayer? Eater of the Op-op fruit?”

While he name got no takers, the mere mention of the ultimate devil fruit sent the pirates into frightened whispers. Their captain suddenly seemed more afraid of him, taking two steps away from the boys, who quickly ran behind Rocinante. He eyed them before he gave the other pirates a confident smirk.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the power of the fruit allows me to turn you inside out. Or perhaps I could effortlessly remove your limbs, piece by piece,” he said as he lifted his hands. Some of them gasped, and others cringed. “It’s quite the sight to behold…Care for a demonstration?”

“N...No, that’s fine!” The pirate captain held up his hands. “We won’t cause any more trouble! In fact, we were just leaving…”

The pirate captain and his seven crewmen dashed away down the dock, leaving Rocinante behind. He watched them go silently, arms crossed. Well, that went better than expected. The two teenagers at his feet looked from their attackers to Rocinante. He in turn looked each of them over, checking to see that they were alright, unharmed, before he collected his things and started to walk off.

“Does the Op-Op fruit really do that?”

Rocinante paused. As he turned back around, he noticed the boy with the fluffy hat looking at him, his friend trying to coax him into silence. Apparently, they had been frightened by his little pile of lies just as well. Rocinante looked between them and the retreating pirates before he shrugged.

“They certainly seemed to think so,” he said.

“Hmm…” The boy folded his arms and tilted his head to the side. “That’s not what I’ve heard it does.”

“Wh-what my buddy Penguin _means_ to say,” the other said, putting his hands on Penguin’s shoulders, “is that we’re totally grateful for you helping us, Mr. Trafalgar! Those guys have been harassing us all morning.”

Rocinante hummed. “Do yourselves a favor: don’t talk about that submarine to anyone else,” he said. The two boys nodded. “Once you’re finished restocking your supplies, get out of here. Go home. The sea’s not a safe place for a couple of kids like you.”

With that, he headed back off toward the inn where Bepo was waiting for him.


End file.
